An Act of Kindness
by JessicaRae24
Summary: The Spellingg Bee missing scenes. Shawn just wasn't having a good day and it all started with his father. No slash.


**An Act of Kindness**

**By **JessicaRae

**Rating:** T – pretty much because of Shawn's potty mouth.

**Summary:** Missing Scenes for Spellingg Bee. Shawn just wasn't having a good day and it all started with his father.

**Major Spoilers:** Spellingg Bee and Pilot.

**Author's Notes:** Well, this is my first attempt at the Psych fandom. I'm afraid this missing scene got away from me a bit, but I just couldn't stop myself. I'll warn you now that this story is a long foray into Shawn's head and it tackles his thoughts and feelings toward his dad. Therefore, Henry isn't represented too well in this story. Also, it has been years since I last wrote fanfiction, so bear with me. I hope I was able to keep Shawn in character. I'd appreciate any constructive criticism you may lend.

**More Detailed Summery:** The major missing scene in this story takes place right after Shawn has been run off the road. Just how did he get to the hospital and what happened in those eight or nine hours until Gus came to the hospital and picked him up? This is Shawn, so of course anything and everything would go wrong. He doesn't do anything the easy way.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters of Psych and gain no money from this. This is for entertainment purposes only and no infringement is intended.

**---------------------------**

Shawn was flying. For a split second, he almost enjoyed the weightless feeling. Then again, watching the ground come toward him at a rate far too fast forced the feeling away before he could fully grasp it. Oh, this was gonna hurt.

The impact forced the air out of his lungs like an accordion, an arm awkwardly pinned beneath him. Even so, a second later he was shoving himself up from the thick long grass, wanting to get a better look at the van. Breathing with effort, Shawn shoved the visor up on his helmet, glancing around as the sound of the van faded into the distance.

Shawn's eyes squinted as he continued to take slow, measured breaths, trying not to panic at the lack of air. Finally, his lungs decided to fully expand again and he could breathe without wheezing. Unfortunately, Shawn was now starting to hurt. His right leg was killing him. To be more specific, his knee was screaming at him. With every beat of his pounding heart, it gave a throb of pain. He wasn't looking forward to moving it.

"Damn it," Shawn hissed, still not quite believing that someone had just intentionally run him off the road. He shook his head, somewhat happy that it didn't hurt. At least he had succeeded in not landing on it. Shawn scowled at himself. No, it seemed he had landed on his knee instead. Badly, he added with a wince as the limb suddenly gave a large throb of pain.

"I must have this psychic detective thingy down," Shawn muttered to himself, frowning. "Threatened on my very first gig and now someone just tried to kill me."

Shawn mulled that over for a second and then grinned, "Yep, I am SO the dude."

Still grinning, Shawn gripped his helmet and pulled it off. The smile fell with a wince though, as his wrist gave a slight twinge of pain. He held the injured arm in front of himself and carefully bent and rotated his hand, wincing when a slight spike of pain shot through it when bent upwards. He must have landed on it wrong. He frowned as he continued bending and rotating it, the pain seeming to dull the more he moved it.

"Must not have messed it up too bad," he thought out loud.

He dropped his arm and let out a sigh. Shawn decided it was about time to call in the cavalry. He reached into his coat pocket for his cell phone, and then paled. Oh, shit. He quickly checked his other pockets, but still didn't find it. What the hell happened to it? Did it fly out of his pocket when he had crashed? Immediately, Shawn started scanning his surroundings for his phone, his eyes straining against the little light the street lamps afforded him. To help his eyes Shawn began patting the grass around him, hoping to stumble upon it. He looked for several minutes, coming to the point of trying to move his leg when a flash of memory slammed into him.

Shawn groaned and closed his eyes, the location of his cell phone forming a crystal clear image in his mind. It was currently resting peacefully in Gus' car, nestled in the passenger's cup holder. Shawn opened his eyes and stared back up at the night sky. He really needed to quit leaving things in Gus' car. Whenever he really needed something, he remembered he'd left it in Gus' stupid car. His sunglasses, his phone, his coat, his phone, his apartment keys, his phone, his lunch, and oh! His stupid phone! Shawn may have had uncanny abilities for observation and a photographic memory, but that didn't mean he never forgot anything. Well, maybe forgot wasn't the right word. He never _really_ forgot anything, but he always had so much stuff going on inside his head that he could sometimes be a bit absent minded.

Okay, a lot absent minded.

"I am such an ass," Shawn berated himself, his brow scrunching in worry. "Now what am I going to do?"

Frowning, he decided to take inventory on what hurt and what didn't before figuring out how to get himself out of his current mess.

"Okay," he started, going through a checklist. "First things first. Head? Still attached and thinkin'. Check. Arms?"

Shawn carefully held his arms out and rotated them, bending his elbows. Save for his slightly hurting wrist, his arms felt good.

"Arms are good. Check. Ribs?"

Taking in a careful breath and holding it, Shawn twisted from side to side. No major pain, just a twinge on his right side that told him he was a little bruised. Shawn let his breath out with a whoosh, relieved. Injured ribs were something he definitely didn't want. They took forever to heal and everything seemed to be connected to them.

"Ribs, check. Butt?" Shawn smirked. "Still one of my better assets."

He grinned at his own joke, knowing he was only trying to put off the next item on his checklist. His legs. Slowly, the grin left his face as he stared down at his legs. More accurately, stared at his right knee. He squinted. Was he seeing things or did it look... bigger?

"Okay. Legs?" Shawn paused. "Make that the left leg."

Shawn bent his left leg towards himself, trying not to jar his other leg. Feeling no pain, Shawn stretched it back out in front of him.

"Left leg, check." Shawn furrowed his brow and pursed his lips. He really didn't want to do this, but he had to find out how badly he'd injured it. "Okay... right leg?"

Shawn took slow breaths; trying to prepare himself for the pain he knew would come. He closed his eyes, his voice soft, "I am a hollow reed, pain blows through me like the wind..."

Shawn bent his right leg. He didn't get half way before he stopped, not able to suppress a yelp of pain. He fell back to the ground, the long grass flattening beneath him. Without thinking Shawn clenched his hands into fists and pounded them into the ground against the pain that was rolling over him. His wrist paid for the action, but that pain was a mere annoyance in the shadow of his leg. It felt like someone was trying to rip it off at his knee.

"OW!" Shawn yelled to the night sky above, forcing his eyes open. "Big, friggin' monster OW! I'm a hollow reed my ass!"

Shawn laid there on his back, panting as he waited for the pain to lesson. That stupid phrase always worked in the movies, why couldn't it have worked for him, too? Deciding to try and occupy his mind on something else, Shawn started to count the blades of grass sticking up beside his face.

Finally, when Shawn got to the blade number 78, the pain waned to a tolerable level. Exhaling slowly, Shawn carefully pushed himself back up. God, he really didn't want to try that again. He rubbed a hand roughly over his face, blinking. He couldn't believe how fast his day had gone to the dogs, or make that the doghouse.

Shawn's face suddenly clouded in anger. The mere thought of the stunt his dad had pulled on him made him sick with resentment. Why had he kept that pathetic attempt at a doghouse anyway? Was his dad counting the days until he could throw it back into his face? Shawn grunted. He wouldn't put it past his dad to have planned it. What other reason would he have had for keeping the dumb thing? He was just waiting until the day he could use it for another lesson.

Shawn shook those thoughts away. He had to try and find a way out of his current predicament. He sighed and then pressed his lips together, concentrating. He skimmed through his options and didn't like any of them. He was stranded along side the road and it was--he glanced at his watch--12:03 in the morning. He highly doubted any cars would be by anytime soon. Shawn had grown up using that road and knew it wasn't a high traffic area late at night. The vast majority of the homeowners in the neighborhood were retired, not exactly party animals that go cruising at midnight.

So, the chance of someone driving by was not likely. At least he didn't have the choice to head back to his father's place. It was already about a mile away and there was no way Shawn could make it that far on foot. Besides, there was also no way in hell he was going to ask his dad for any more help. Who knew what the man would ask for in return of this helping hand? No. He wasn't going to ask his dad for help again. Ever.

Shawn only had one choice. He'd have to get to the next house down the road. He sat up straighter to peer over the grass to the next house's lights. He felt his stomach flip at the distance. The house was a little over a half mile away, but it might as well have been five miles to Shawn. How the heck was he going to get there? God, that jerk couldn't have run him off the road beside the ocean front housing. Nooo... His buddy the van man had to wipe him out along the cove. No housing could be built along the steep rocky beaches that spanned almost two miles, so the road bordered it instead. That thought suddenly made him pause. He was lucky he had turned his bike inland; otherwise he would have had one long and possibly fatal fall. He shuddered. That was too close.

Sighing, Shawn fell to his back in the grass. This meant he had to get to his feet and WALK to that house. He really didn't want to do this. He wished he could just hop back onto his bike and drive himself to the hospital, or the house at the very least, but there was no chance of that happening. The shifter was on the right side of his bike. There was no way he could drive it with his bad leg, not that walking was looking much better.

With a groan, Shawn sat back up and mulled over the complicated task of standing up. He studied his surroundings, trying to find something to assist him.

"Ah-ha!" Shawn exclaimed, spotting a small dead tree in the brush several feet away. He used his arms to drag himself to his find, pursing his lips as the ground pulled against his knee. Once at the tree, he reached out and grasped one of the larger limbs. He grunted as he jerked it back, snapping the branch from its base. Shawn quickly went about snapping the smaller branches off of his new crutch and then held it before him. He raised an eyebrow and one side of his mouth quirked. It wasn't the best, but it would have to work.

Continuing his butt-shuffling maneuver, Shawn made his way back to the road. Once he reached the black top, he let his eyes fall sadly onto his precious bike. The Norton 750 Commando was sprawled on its side, the front end buried in a tangle of grass and brush. Shawn prayed the damage was minimal. It was expensive to repair the classic bike. Not to mention that after all the years he spent fixing it up, seeing it like it was now caused his anger to rise up again. That bike was one of the few things in his life that he really cared about, and the longer he stared at it the angrier he became. He was going to get the guy that did this to him. He was going to nail his murdering, bike wrecking butt to the wall.

Tearing his eyes away from his baby, Shawn looked down the road. If at all possible, the house looked even further than before. Scowling, Shawn narrowed his eyes and suddenly jabbed his makeshift crutch into the ground and forced himself up to his feet in one single motion. He dang near fell straight back down to the ground. Instead, he balanced precariously on his good leg and his crutch. His knee was pulsing in pain, his toes barely touching the ground.

"Gawd," Shawn ground out through clenched teeth, breathing hard. His arm was trembling as it gripped the stick tightly to keep his balance. Sweat broke out over Shawn's face and he closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe slowly and gain back some control. "Dude, this is so not cool."

Cracking his eyes open in a pained squint, Shawn took one hobbling step forward. He inhaled sharply, but took another step forward. Then he took another and another. In an awkward hopping motion, Shawn got himself into a rhythm. He discovered that he could put a decent amount of weight on his injured leg, bending the limb was what made him cringe in pain.

Shawn's eyes never left the lights looming before him, the glowing dots almost dancing before his eyes. He could do this. He could. Just keep on keeping on. Crutch, hop, step. Crutch, hop, step. Crutch, hop, step. Shawn let his mouth twist into a smirk as that rhythm triggered a memory.

"1 2 3, 1 2 3, 1 2 3," he panted out, remembering the insecure officer practicing his waltz in front of a copy machine. Shawn chuckled. The groom-to-be was a real nice guy. He was a bit naive, but nice. Hey, with a name like Buzz McNab, how could he not be?

Still smiling, Shawn replayed the events that led him to his current occupation. He really hadn't seen any alternative to what he had ended up doing. It was either lie like he'd never lied before or jail. The images of that cell still made him gulp. There had been no way he was going to be stuck in there with those crooks. Thank the lord of sweet pineapple that Officer Allen had been there. She gave him the out he needed to not end up behind bars.

With a wince Shawn broke from his thoughts, having stumbled over a dip in the road. Stopping to regain his balance, he was surprised to find he was almost halfway to the house. Smiling with renewed confidence, he lurched forward and back into his rhythm. He was going to make it. He didn't have a choice to not make it, just like he really didn't have a choice in the continuation of his little fib about being psychic. He hadn't even gotten down the police department steps before Police Chief Karen Vick had nabbed him.

Shawn had been fully intending to leave his psychic thing behind him once it got his butt out of trouble, but now he had a threat of a felony charge if he didn't keep up his ruse. Granted, he didn't mind all that much. It was fun. Every case he was brought in on held a new challenge. He didn't get bored, and that was the killer for all of his previous jobs. He'd get the information he needed to satisfy his curiosity and then boredom would set in. Shawn would then either quit or do something stupid that got him fired.

Shawn was fired a lot.

Now that he had found something that he genuinely enjoyed, he looked forward to every day he came into his phony office. The fake psychic gig was the closest he could come to being a cop and not actually be a cop, something he had sworn long ago to never become. Although, Shawn had to admit that wasn't entirely true. Though he had sworn the profession off to spite his father, he never lost the desire. Becoming a cop had been what his dad had wanted, what he had intended for Shawn to be. As far as Henry was concerned, it was preordained before he was born. Shawn hated having anything laid out for him or forced upon him. Maybe he would have become a cop by his own choice, but he refused to become one by his father's choice.

In the beginning, Shawn was like any other boy who looked up to father. He wanted to be just like Henry, but after years and years of what he could only describe as training, Shawn had soon hated the very idea of becoming like his father. It had become more and more apparent that being a cop was all Henry cared about. If Shawn showed interest in something else, or even started excelling in something that didn't have anything to do with police work, his dad had scoffed and asked why he'd ever want to do it in the first place. His father's one-track mind had driven Shawn up the wall, and if it hadn't been for Gus he was sure he would have become a delinquent. Well, at least a worse delinquent than he already was.

Shawn smiled at the thought of his best friend, the only friend that had stuck with him. Before he had met the one and only Burton Guster, he had gone through more friends than he had jobs in the present. It seemed as soon as they hung around him long enough they would either get fed up with him or get freaked out by his ability to know things about them that he shouldn't have known.

Suddenly, loud barking broke him out of his thoughts, the shock breaking his rhythm and causing his heart to jump in fear. He winced as he over balanced on his leg, blinking at his surroundings. Shawn squinted. He couldn't believe it. He had zoned out so completely that he had almost passed right by the house he was trying to get to. Where was Gus when he needed him?

Humph. Shawn knew where Gus was. He was soundly sleeping in his bed, which was where Shawn would have been also if his father would have just helped him out like a father was supposed to. Instead, Shawn had worked late into the night on a doghouse filled with bad memories while his dad was off playing poker.

Feeling his anger rise again, Shawn turned and started for the front door, keeping a wary eye on the large barking German Shepherd chained in the yard. His sharp eyes took in the doghouse, painted to match the house, and couldn't help the sour feeling that twisted his gut. Stupid doghouse.

"I should just steal your little home there, Fido," Shawn glared at the dog, then squinted at the sign over the dog door. "Oh, I'm sorry. I meant Butch."

"Damn it! Would you shut the hell UP?"

Shawn's eyes snapped back to the house, catching sight of lights being turned on. He gulped when the porch light flipped on. The man had sounded really pissed and Shawn hoped the man would forgive his rude awakening. He braced himself for anything as the front door swung open, slamming against the wall. Shawn flinched.

"You sorry excuse for a dog!" growled a huge, burly man. He stood on the edge of the porch, glaring at Butch. He shook his finger in warning, "For the last time, SHUT UP!"

Butch stopped. The animal tore its eyes from Shawn and looked up at its owner, as if suddenly noticing him. The dog gave one final warning bark toward Shawn and then turned and disappeared into its doghouse. Shawn frowned again. Stupid doghouse.

Angry muttering brought Shawn's attention back to the stranger and his eyes widened as the man started back into the house, hitching up his pajama bottoms as he went. No! Shawn thought frantically. The man hadn't even seen him.

"H-hey!" Shawn stuttered, his voice raspy after his walk. "Wait!"

The man jumped, spinning around with a hand flying to his chest in fright. His wide eyes stared at Shawn through horn-rimmed glasses, "What the hell! W-who are you? What are you doing in my yard?"

Shawn shifted, hopping awkwardly to keep his balance. God, he was tired. He ducked his head and raked a nervous hand through his hair, looking up at the man through his dark eyelashes. He was about to ask for help for the second time in the last day. Damn it. He hated asking anyone for help.

"I- I need some help," Shawn forced out, and then nodded back down the road. "I... lost control of my bike back there and crashed. I don't have my cell phone and I was hoping I could use yours to call for a ride?"

The man took off his glasses and rubbed a hand roughly over this face before placing them back on his nose. He seemed more awake now as he stared down at Shawn from the porch, his irritated expression fading into concern as he took in Shawn's appearance.

The man took a step forward, "Are you hurt badly, son?"

A little startled at the man's change in demeanor, Shawn gave him a reassuring smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes," Naw, just a bit banged up. All I need is to call for a ride."

"You sure?" The man looked skeptical, tilting his head.

"I'm fine," assured Shawn. He stepped forward to prove his claim, but lost his balance and had to bend his injured leg to catch himself. Shawn gasped at he pain and his good leg suddenly buckled, the limb exhausted from overuse.

Surprisingly, Shawn didn't feel the ground slam into him for a second time that night. Strong hands were suddenly gripping his shoulders, keeping him on his feet--make that keeping him on his foot. Shawn lifted his head up to stare at the stranger before him.

"Dude," Shawn breathed, impressed. "You're fast for an old man."

For a moment, Shawn berated himself, having once again spoken without thinking and thought for sure that the man would let him go to continue on his fall to the ground. He was surprised when the man burst out in a hardy laugh.

"Good for you that I'm not that old," he smiled, and then started helping Shawn to the porch steps and carefully setting him down.

Shawn sighed in relief, setting his makeshift crutch to the side as he stretched his injured leg out before him. He looked down at the steps. He was glad he hadn't had to climb them to get the man's help. He'd had no idea how he was going to get up them. Shawn brought his attention back to the man when he spoke.

"My name's Franklin Lorey," he gruffly said, still standing in front of Shawn as he extended a hand. "What's yours?"

Shawn shook the offered hand, "Shawn Spencer."

Franklin straightened, "Spencer?" He looked a Shawn for a moment. "You Henry's boy?"

Mentally flinching at his dad's name, Shawn nodded.

Franklin rubbed his chin, "Huh. Thought there was something familiar about you."

That made Shawn raise an eyebrow. Franklin smiled, "I saw you around when you were growing up, and I knew your dad. We were in the neighborhood watch together."

Shawn frowned. Franklin had just been down the road from his former home and he'd never met the man. Shawn only vaguely remembered seeing him around when he was younger.

Franklin seemed to have read what he was thinking with his next words, "I just lived here for several years when you were younger, then my wife got the cancer and we had to move to L.A. for her treatment. Never sold the house, though. Rented it out."

Shawn's mouth formed an "O" and he nodded, not needing to ask to know why Franklin was living there now. Shawn knew the man was now alone.

"I'm sorry," he softly spoke. At Franklin's confused expression, Shawn gave a hurried explanation. He was never good at expressing how he felt, and jokes wouldn't go over too well right now. "About your wife."

Franklin's face fell, "Yes, well... She's in a better place now."

Suddenly, Franklin cleared his throat loudly, "Why don't you give this old man a couple minutes to get changed and I'll drive you to the hospital myself."

Shawn was shocked, especially at the word hospital. He'd had no plans on going there; just back to his apartment and his nice warm bed. "No. No, you don't have to do that. I've already woken you up in the middle of the night and scared the crap outta ya. Just let me call for a ride and you can get back to bed."

"Son, I don't have to do this, but I'm gonna." Franklin climbed up the steps and walked to the front door. "I'll just be a couple minutes."

Shawn watched the door fall closed and blinked, then shook his head and turned back to the yard before him. Damn it. He didn't want to go to the hospital. He hated hospitals. Sighing, Shawn waited. As he sat there, he found his eyes kept drifting back to the doghouse. Butch suddenly poked his head out as if he knew he was being watched. The dog stared at Shawn for a few seconds and then laid down, head resting on his paws. Shawn could tell the doghouse was well built as he studied it. He may have had no concept at construction, but anyone could spot good craftsmanship. He secretly wished he was able to build something that well, but that was one talent he definitely didn't have and was why he had avoided construction jobs like the plague when job hunting.

The front door suddenly opened and soon Franklin stood before him, now wearing jeans and a sweatshirt instead of the dark green pajama suit. Shawn stared up at him, "Fast much? Dude, you got some kinda freaky autochanger gadget in there?"

Franklin smiled, "You ready?"

Shawn grinned up at him, "I'm always ready, Frankie."

Franklin smiled widened at the name and he leaned down to help Shawn stand. Shawn used his crutch to help himself up and then let it fall to the ground. He wouldn't need it anymore. Franklin pulled one of Shawn's arms over his shoulders and they began to limp toward his car. Once there, Franklin opened the passenger door and carefully maneuvered Shawn into the car. He noticed Shawn's eyes were clenched shut and frowned in worry.

"You doing okay there, Shawn?" he asked, placing a hand on the young man's shoulder.

Shawn opened his eyes, "I'm good."

Franklin looked doubtful, but nodded and shut the door. He walked around the car and got in. He started it, then leaned back against the seat to look behind him and backed out onto the road.

Shawn fidgeted in his seat, glancing at the LCD display. He was shocked that it was only 12:49am. He would have sworn it had taken him hours to get to Franklin's house. Shawn shook his head slightly and spared a glance to Franklin beside him. His trained eye now took in the man and Shawn didn't think he was any older than his father. He had salt and pepper hair that was thinning at his temples and dark green eyes behind the horn-rimmed glasses. Franklin's face was of the distinguished kind, but deep worry lines were carved into it around his eyes and mouth and across his forehead. The years of his wife's ordeal had taken their toll and Shawn frowned in sympathy. Changing his gaze to the steering wheel, Shawn saw that his hands were rough and calloused, obviously used in manual labor. He was pretty sure he knew what Franklin did for a living before he had retired.

"So, Frankie," Shawn cleared his throat, "You build that doghouse for Butch?"

Franklin glanced at Shawn, surprise showing on his face, "Yeah, I did. How'd you figure that? Most everyone just buys 'em."

Shawn shrugged. He leaned his head back against the seat and lazily watched the scenery flash by, his hands gripping his right leg in an effort to keep it still against the motion of the car.

"How long did you work in construction before you retired?"

Franklin again glanced at Shawn in surprise, an eyebrow raised, "How'd you know I worked in construction?"

Shawn smirked, glancing at him, "Nice doghouse."

A slow smile spread across Franklin's face and he shook his head, "Thanks, I think. Well, I worked in construction for about... Oh, thirty years or so? That's professionally, though. I was into all that in high school, too. So, actually, it's more like my whole life I've been doing it. Man, it was harder than hell to give it up. I hate being retired."

Shawn smiled. He would hate to be retired, too. Shawn had decided long ago that he was never going to retire. He'd get too bored, and Shawn and bored were two things that just never did well together.

"What about you?" Franklin suddenly asked, "What do you do for a living?"

Shawn lost his smile, finding it surprisingly hard to lie to the man beside him. After all, what he did for a living was pretty much one big lie, wasn't it?

"Shawn?"

The smile returning, if somewhat forced, Shawn answered, "I'm a... psychic detective."

The silence at his answer caused Shawn's smile to slip, and he turned from the window to look at Franklin. The man was looking at him with an odd expression before he returned his eyes to the road.

"A psychic detective, huh?" he said and then he gave Shawn a grin. "That must be an interesting job."

"Dude," Shawn laughed in relief. "You have no idea."

"Solved a few cases, have you?" Franklin smiled knowingly.

"A few," Shawn smiled back and then changed the subject. "So, Frankie, when did you build that doghouse?"

Franklin took the change of topic in stride, "Oh, not too long ago actually. Maybe a year?"

"So, you've only had Butch for a year?" Shawn asked, his mind turning in possible explanations. "And why did you name him Butch? It's so... cliché."

Franklin laughed, "I didn't name him that, it was already his name. He's a retired police dog, so I guess that was why he was barking like a nutcase when you limped into the yard."

Shawn nodded and would have asked why he had gotten the dog as a natural course of their conversation, but he already knew why. Then Franklin continued without any prompting.

"I just needed... something around to keep me company," came the sad words, Franklin's hands flexing on the steering wheel. "After Sharon passed, I just... I couldn't stand the silence."

Shawn's sad hazel eyes stared at Franklin, then he turned back to the road as the street lights continued to flash by. For once, Shawn didn't know what to say.

"And Butch is anything, but silent," Franklin continued after the pause, forcing a laugh out. "While he was barking at you tonight, he's been barking at anything he seems to think is trouble lately. That's why I was so angry at being woke up by him tonight. The last few days he's been driving me nuts, barking all night."

Shawn's brow furrowed at that, a frown turning his lips. Something about that seemed off, but he shook his head and shrugged it away. The former police dog was probably just paranoid. Pressing his lips together, Shawn looked to the man beside him.

"Ya know, Frankie," Shawn ventured, "My place is closer than the hospital. Why don't you just drop me off there?"

"What?" objected Franklin, sparing Shawn a wide-eyed glance. "Are you nuts? In the shape you're in?"

"Come on, man. I'm fine." Shawn's voice became tinged with a pleading tone, "It's just west of here. Take a right at this light coming up and I'll tell ya where to head next."

"You're serious?"

Shawn just nodded, his eyes glancing back and forth between the light ahead and the man beside him. His glances became quicker and quicker as they neared the light and Franklin stayed silent, the man's eyes staring straight ahead and hands gripping the wheel.

"Frankie, it's this light right-"

Franklin drove straight through the intersection.

"-here." Shawn finished, his head swinging around to follow the intersection as they drove through it. "Well, okay. No biggie. You can take a right at this next light instead."

"No."

Shawn blinked, "Huh?"

Franklin glanced at Shawn, his expression adamant, "I said no, Shawn. You're hurt and should go to the hospital. That is where I'm taking you."

"Damn it," hissed Shawn, his head falling back against the headrest. He hated the lack of control he was feeling. "Shouldn't I have a say in this?"

"Nope." Franklin's face softened. "Why don't you want to go to the hospital, Shawn?"

Shawn gave him a look, then returned his gaze to the window, "I just… I don't like 'em."

Franklin was quiet for a minute and then he nodded, "Okay. I'm not too fond of them either."

Shawn didn't acknowledge Franklin's words. Instead, he felt the anger that had been festering in his gut ever since his father's stupid favor rise to the surface, his exhaustion and throbbing leg hindering his ability to bite back his emotions.

"Why do you even care?" Shawn suddenly asked. His tone sounded sour even to his own ears, but he hadn't been able to stop the words from coming out. He felt himself losing his temper and was unable to fight it.

"What the hell kind of messed up question is that?" Franklin asked, anger of his own coloring his tone.

"One I'd like an answer to, Frankie," Shawn countered, crossing his arms over his chest. "Why do you care? You don't even know me."

"I don't need to," frowned Franklin. He spared Shawn a confused glance as he turned left down 24th avenue. "You're a good kid that needs some help. That's all."

"Good kid?" guffawed Shawn, shaking his head. "Yeah, right. For one, I'm thirty-one years old and no kid. Two, if you _did_ know me you wouldn't be saying that. So, what do you want?"

"Excuse me?" sputtered Franklin, not sure he had heard Shawn right. The quick change of direction their conversation was taking was throwing him off kilter. He didn't understand what was causing Shawn's sudden anger.

"What," Shawn enunciated slowly, "do you want?"

"Want?" asked Franklin. "Want for what? …Helping you?"

Shawn just raised an eyebrow, waiting.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me. You-" Franklin broke off, not able to finish the thought. The fact that Shawn expected him to ask for something in return for his help cut him deep and it angered him that the young man beside him thought that way about other people. Franklin's own temper flared at the very idea.

"Tell ya what, Shawn. Why don't you tell me what I want, huh? You're the 'psychic'."

Shawn's eyes widened at the words and Franklin instantly wanted to take them back at the hurt he saw in the young green eyes staring at him. He sighed when Shawn turned away from him, his lips a hard line as he stared out the window.

"Shawn, I-" started Franklin, his tone apologetic. "Shawn, I didn't mean that."

Shawn just shook his head and turned further away from him. Silence now fell between the two of them. Franklin flexed his hands on the wheel and decided to let Shawn be for now.

Shawn glared out the window, his expression sullen. Oh, the 'psychic' dig had hurt. Mainly because the doubt he had heard in Franklin's voice was well founded. Shawn wasn't a psychic and the fact that Franklin didn't believe him shouldn't have mattered, but for some reason it did. He hitched his arms across his chest tighter in a weak attempt at hiding. Shawn knew he was being irrational, but his recent experience with his father only solidified his view that nobody helped anyone without expecting something in return. It was the main reason why he hated asking anyone for help and why he went to more deceptive means to garner the assistance he needed from those around him.

Shawn had hoped it was going to be different this time with his dad. Since the man had moved back into their old house Shawn thought that maybe his dad had changed after the divorce or that he and Shawn could somehow salvage their relationship. Hell, he'd even thought his dad would have been proud of him for using his 'gift' and helping the police. Instead, all Shawn received from his father was ridicule for his actions and doubt in his abilities.

Then again, Shawn should have known that he was running on false hopes when it came to his father. His father was only concerned about results, what he would receive at the end of the job. Henry didn't care about the thing Shawn thought was more important. Shawn believed the effort put out to get the job done was more meaningful than the end result.

When Shawn had first tried to build the doghouse back in 1989, he had worked for hours harder than he had on anything before it. Shawn hadn't had any clue on what he was doing, but he was trying his best. When his father had walked up Shawn had looked for words of encouragement or a helping hand, but instead received a harsh critique on everything he was doing wrong.

No more than two minutes had passed after his father had disappeared into the house when Shawn turned his hammer against the unfinished doghouse. He slammed it into the wood, breaking the boards apart to fall to the ground around him. When the hammer wasn't achieving the amount of destruction he felt he needed, young Shawn had dropped the hammer and had started kicking the structure. He had kicked and kicked as hard as he could, tears streaming down his face. When he couldn't do anymore damage Shawn collapsed to the ground and drew his legs up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them as he pressed his face into his knees. He had cried for a long time before picking himself up. He had stared down at his destroyed doghouse with red-rimmed eyes before he walked way. He gave up.

Later, Shawn had found the shattered doghouse gone. It was as if it was never there. Shawn had assumed his father had thrown it away. From that day on Shawn and Henry never mentioned the doghouse again and Shawn forced himself to forget it. That was until yesterday. The way his dad had forced the doghouse back onto him hurt. It hurt a lot more than it angered him, but the anger was easier for him to show. That pile of wood triggered memories Shawn really had wanted to stay forgotten. He had tried to work on the doghouse despite the memories as he needed to find out what was in that Chinese food, but then his father had come back from his poker game and had ripped into him once again, telling Shawn that he was doing it all wrong. It was as if he was reliving a page from his past.

Shawn felt his eyes start to burn and he blinked hard, sniffing. Why did his dad keep doing that to him? Shawn jumped at a hand on his shoulder, turning to look at Franklin's worried face.

"Hey," Franklin said softly, his brow furrowing at the tears he could see swimming in Shawn's eyes. "You okay, son?"

The fatherly affection Franklin put in that last word almost caused Shawn's tears to fall, but he choked them back and looked down to avoid the man's gaze.

"I'm good," Shawn quietly answered, his voice rough. He struggled to get his composure back. He never dealt with his emotions very well and here he was breaking down in front of a stranger.

Franklin looked doubtful as he studied Shawn's down turned face. He could tell the young man was trying to cover up his feelings and it made is heart ache to watch. He found he couldn't stop the fatherly feelings from emerging and he squeezed the shoulder beneath his hand.

"You will be, Shawn," he said kindly, releasing Shawn's shoulder and leaning back. He started to open his door, "Well, we're here. Just sit tight and I'll help you get out."

That made Shawn raise his head in surprise. He glanced around and saw the hospital. He hadn't even noticed that they had stopped. He straightened as his door opened.

"Here we go," Franklin said, easing a hand around Shawn's shoulders as he carefully pulled him from the car. Shawn hissed through his teeth as he maneuvered to stand, his leg pulsing after being immobile for so long.

"Ya okay?" Franklin asked, helping to steady Shawn on his feet while shoving the car door closed.

"Yeah, Frankie," Shawn breathed, getting himself used to the pain. "Just give me a sec."

Franklin nodded, patiently waiting. Once Shawn nodded, he helped him limp to the Emergency Room doors. Once they reached the front desk, Franklin addressed the nurse behind it.

"My friend here had a motorcycle accident and hurt his leg. He needs to get checked out," he nodded to Shawn beside him, who was breathing hard after the walk from the car.

The pretty middle-aged brunette looked Shawn over and frowned in pity. She handed Franklin a clipboard, "Just fill these out and I'll get a doctor shortly."

Franklin took the clipboard and then helped Shawn to the waiting area. After setting Shawn into a chair he sat down beside him. He showed Shawn the clipboard, "You okay enough to fill his out?"

Shawn nodded and took the forms, uncapping the pen and filling out the information. When he was finished he capped the pen and handed the clipboard back to Franklin. He took the forms back to the nurse and then returned to Shawn's side.

They were quiet for a little while until Franklin spoke, "You want to call anybody? Tell them what happened and that you're here?"

Shawn narrowed his eyes, thinking for a minute before shaking his head, "No. It's the middle of the night. I don't want to wake anyone up… Well, besides you."

Shawn smiled and Franklin couldn't help but smile back, but he had to ask again, "You sure? Not even your dad?"

"No," Shawn's answer came quick, his smile gone. "I don't want to call him. I'll call my friend later and let him know, though."

Shawn's quick refusal to call his dad had Franklin frowning. He wondered what kind of relationship Henry had with his son, although from what he'd observed so far Franklin didn't think it was a very good one.

"Frankie?"

Franklin looked at Shawn, who was watching his hands as he picked at his nails, "Yeah?"

"Listen, I-" Shawn's voice broke, and he cleared his throat before continuing, "I'm sorry… for how I acted before. I just lost my temper."

"Hey, no big deal," Franklin smiled, then it slipped a little as he continued. "I'm sorry about what I said, too. Guess I have a bit of a temper, too."

Shawn returned the grin Franklin gave him, the man's kindness throughout Shawn's ordeal suddenly giving Shawn the urge to tell Franklin the truth. That he wasn't a psychic and it was all a lie, but Shawn managed to beat the urge down.

"You're forgiven," Shawn gave a nod. "I'm used to skeptics."

"Well, I hope you can prove me wrong," chuckled Franklin, reaching out to mess up Shawn's hair.

"Hey!" objected Shawn, laughter in his voice as he batted the hand away. "Dude, not the hair!

Franklin laughed, pulling his hand back. He liked this kid.

"Shawn Spencer?"

They both looked up to see a gray haired man in a white coat. Shawn answered, "Yeah?"

"I'm Dr. Klein," he smiled kindly and then motioned behind him. "I'm ready to see you now."

"Okay," Shawn nodded and then he turned to Franklin. "I don't want to see you when I'm done. Go home."

"What?" Franklin was shocked, "Why?"

"It's the middle of the night and you've helped me more than you needed to," Shawn explained. "There is nothing else you can do. Go home and get some of the sleep back that I stole from ya. I'll be fine. I'll call my friend later if I need a ride."

Franklin had the strange urge to stay at the hospital and wait for Shawn like a worried father, and had to shake his head to dispel it. Franklin stood and helped Shawn to his feet. He stared into Shawn's face, "Are you sure? It's no problem-"

"Go," Shawn repeated, a small smile forming on his face. "Get some sleep."

"All right," Franklin finally conceded, nodding his head. He stood there watching as the doctor helped Shawn walk to the examination room. Just before Shawn disappeared around the corner, he stopped.

"Frankie?"

Franklin straightened, "Yeah?"

Shawn turned and stared at him a moment, his eyes a clear green, "Thanks."

Franklin smiled wide, "You're welcome, Shawn. And don't be a stranger now, all right?"

A corner of Shawn's mouth quirked up, "I won't. See ya later, Frankie."

Franklin just nodded, watching Shawn disappear around the corner. He stood there a few minutes before slowly making his way to the door and his car. He sat down in the driver's seat with a sigh.

How the hell was he going to get back to sleep after that?

**---------------------------**

"Well, Mr. Spencer, it looks as though you damaged the collateral ligament in your right knee," explained Dr. Klein as he slowly bent the limb.

Shawn sat on a bed with his legs dangling over the side, his injured leg in the doctor's hands. His teeth were clenched against the pain the doctor was causing, his hands gripping the side rails in a white-knuckled grip. His green eyes were fixed on his knee. It was swollen and already several deep shades of purple and red.

Dr. Klein looked up when Shawn let out a gasp, pressing his lips together as he came to a decision.

"Since this is a rather acute injury it is too sensitive for me to examine fully. I'm pretty confident it is not a serious injury, somewhat of a bad sprain." He carefully released Shawn's leg and stood. "I could give it a local anaesthetic to give it a full examination, but I don't think it is necessary. Your x-rays showed no breaks, so I am going to put a knee brace on it and have you come back in a few days for a more thorough examination when the injury isn't acute."

Shawn just nodded and watched as the doctor grabbed his chart and began writing on it, "Now, other than the slight sprain of your wrist and the injury to your knee, I see nothing else wrong. You're a very lucky young man, Mr. Spencer. Motorcycle accidents don't usually result in such minor injuries."

"Thanks, I think," Shawn replied, not knowing what else to say. "So, I can go?"

The doctor glanced at his watch, then continued writing in Shawn's chart, "Yes, you are free to go after I get that brace on and wrap that wrist, but since it is only 2:00 in the morning I would prefer to keep you here until mid-morning to give your knee a chance to rest. That will be one of the main things you will have to do from now on. Stay off of that leg."

Shawn frowned, but nodded. He didn't think Gus would take kindly to being woken up this early just to come and pick him up when it could wait until later in the morning and although he had nodded to the doctor, there was no way he was staying off his feet after getting out of there. He had a murder to solve.

Dr. Klein continued, "Now, I'm prescribing you some pain killers to take the edge off of the pain. Take one every four hours." He ripped a sheet of paper from the chart and handed it to Shawn. "You can pick this up when you leave, right now I'll have a nurse bring in some of the medication since you'll be staying with us for a while. I'll just go and get that splint and wrap and we'll get you squared away in a room until you check out."

"Thanks, Dr. Klein," Shawn called as the doctor walked out of the room, the man nodding with a smile before disappearing.

Shawn sighed and then pulled himself fully onto the bed with his hands, having his leg hanging down like that was making it throb mercilessly. Now that it was somewhat elevated, he pain lessoned and Shawn leaned back against the pillows. He hoped he was going to be able to get some sleep before he left. He was getting a headache now on top of everything else after staying awake for so long.

**---------------------------**

"Burton Guster."

Shawn smiled into the phone at his friends voice, "Gus! My man."

"Shawn?"

Shawn scowled, "No, it's John Madden. Yes, it's me. Listen, I need a ride. I'm at Santa Barbara General Hospital."

"You're in the hospital?" came Gus' shocked words.

Shawn rolled his eyes, "That would be what I just said, Gus. Now, can you come pick me up?"

"What happened?"

Sighing, Shawn gave a brief summary, "I had a little incident with my bike and ran off the road."

"What!" cried Gus, concern obvious in his voice. Shawn was touched. "Are you okay?"

"Gus, I'm in the hospital. What do you think?" Shawn's voice carried an edge that he couldn't control, and he regretted it at Gus' next words.

"Damn it, Shawn," worry brought Gus' voice down an octave, "How bad are you hurt?"

"Dude, I'm fine," lied Shawn, his tone low. "Just come and pick me up."

"Fine. I'm on my way now."

With that, Gus hung up the phone. Shawn stared at the receiver in his hand with a sigh, then set it back onto it's base. He leaned back in his hospital bed and pressed the call button. A nurse shortly arrived at his side.

"Yes?" she asked.

"I'm checking out. I'll need my clothes, please," Shawn said politely, watching the nurse walk back out of his room. She was cute, but he wasn't in the mood to flirt.

It was 9:00 in the morning and he was going crazy lying in that hospital bed, so he had finally went ahead and called Gus to come pick him up. He knew his friend would have been up by then.

Shawn was still tired. He hadn't gotten much sleep at all, a few hours at best. He had kept thinking about his father and Franklin. He couldn't help comparing the two men and even with the short time Shawn had known Franklin, the man was already ahead in points. Franklin had shown more fatherly concern and caring toward Shawn in the hour he'd known him than his father had since he was five.

Letting out a long sigh, Shawn sat up on the bed. The nurse walked in with his clothes.

"Thanks."

The nurse studied him for a minute as he flipped through his clothes, patiently waiting for her to leave.

"No problem, sugar," she finally replied and smiled. She turned and walked toward the door, but before walking out of the room she looked back at him and winked.

Shawn raised an eyebrow. Maybe he should try playing the uninterested man more often if he got a reaction like that. Shrugging, Shawn carefully slid off his knee brace and put on his pants before replacing it and finished getting dressed. He had a case to solve. It was more personal than ever now.

**---------------------------**

"Holy crap, Shawn!" yelled Gus upon seeing his friend. He reached out and gripped Shawn's shoulder to help keep him steady. Shawn immediately shrugged him off. "I thought you said you were fine. You can barely walk!"

"Dude, relax," Shawn assured, "It looks worse than it is. Now, let's get out of here."

Shawn shoved his bottle of painkillers into his pocket and then started hobbling out of the room. Gus was right on his heels as he walked down the hallway. Shawn was already working at the wrap on his wrist, unfastening the clasp and unraveling the wrap.

"Did you call your dad?" asked Gus, disapproving eyes watching as Shawn continued taking the wrap off of his wrist.

"I'm fine. They're releasing me," Shawn insisted, even as he gasped slightly after bending his leg a little too far.

Gus frowned, "Did you call him?"

"Gus," Shawn sighed, "I am not gonna talk to my dad."

"He'd want to know you were okay," Gus said evenly.

Yeah, right. Shawn suppressed the urge to voice that thought out loud. Shawn finished taking the wrap off of his wrist and threw it aside, "All he cares about are results. Just like those possessed spelling bee parents."

Shawn looked into the rooms they were passing, searching and becoming more irritated the longer his friend questioned him and assumed he knew what was best for Shawn when it concerned his father, "You know what's wrong with this? All of this?"

"Shawn, you're delirious. You're upset. You lost control of your bike last night."

The calm way Gus spoke made Shawn stop in his tracks and confront his friend, "Gus, I didn't lose control of anything. Someone tried to kill me or send a very serious message."

Gus stared at his friend, his dark eyes following him as Shawn turned and walked away from him. If what Shawn said was true… Well, it made Gus even more against this psychic thing Shawn insisted on continuing. The charade wasn't worth Shawn's life and he prayed it wasn't the price they were going to pay in the future for their continued lie. Shaking the thoughts away, Gus hurried after his friend.

**---------------------------**

"Ah, Shawn. What a coincidence," smirked Henry as he opened his front door. "I was just reading the paper about this little article that sounded eerily familiar about a spelling bee."

Shawn stared down at the paper in his father's hands, forcing himself to say his next words, "Thanks for the help, Dad."

Help. Yeah, right. Shawn kept his dark thoughts to himself.

Henry took off his glasses, "The police ever get that evidence?"

"Yeah, a funny little bird tipped 'em off," Shawn replied, his voice reluctant.

After a pause, Henry spoke, "Leg doing better?"

"Yeah, it's getting there. Doesn't hurt so bad," Shawn rushed through his response, trying to get what he was about to say off his chest and get his plan at revenge set into motion.

He sighed, "Listen, Dad… The thing about the house, the dog, it was kinda a big deal and I know I held a grudge about it for a while, but… I think you were right."

Shawn nodded at his father and had to suppress his smile as he continued, "A dog needs a house and a doghouse needs an occupant. So… as a token of my appreciation I left you a little something. Sincerely. Thanks."

Shawn started to turn away from his dad and couldn't suppress his smile any longer. He let it turn into a full on grin as he hurried toward Gus with his father's shouts echoing behind him.

"Shawn? Shawn! No. No way!"

"Enjoy, Dad!" Shawn tossed over his shoulder, laughter in his voice. Revenge was so very sweet.

"Shawn, you have to take this thing with ya!" The golden retriever puppy dangled in his father's grasp.

Shawn closed the gate behind him, "Are you kidding? There aren't any pets allowed in my apartment."

"I'm gonna stick it out in the street, Shawn! I swear it I'm gonna stick it- SHAWN!"

Shawn laughed.

"He's not gonna keep that thing, ya know," greeted Gus as they started walking down the block.

"Aw, it's my neighbor's dog. Let's take a lap around the block. Let him stew for a little bit."

"SHAWN!"

Shawn grinned, but despite the afterglow of his payback it didn't completely satisfy him. He thought back to when his dad had suddenly started helping him build the doghouse and his astonished words that he had spoke to his father at the fact that he'd never helped him before. His father's reply of Shawn never asking still felt like a punch in the stomach. His mind drifted over the memory of Franklin and he shook his head.

His dad just didn't get it and probably never would. Shawn shouldn't have had to ask. Henry should have given his help freely. It seemed to Shawn that Franklin was still coming out the better man and it wasn't a good thing for Henry that Shawn had met him.

From now on, things were going to change between the father and son.

**The End.**

**Author's Note:** Just a little note that I am planning a sequel to this, so keep an eye out for it. It will be a longer story with a mystery for Shawn and Gus to solve, too. And Franklin Lorey will definitely be present, so I hope you liked him.


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